Controlling the Elements

by N. R. Spratlin

  CONTROLLING THE ELEMENTS

  BOOK ONE OF THE MANIPULATOR SERIES

  N.R. Spratlin

  Copyright © 2017

  N.R Spratlin

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient.

  CONTROLLING THE ELEMENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  EPILOGUE

  This book is dedicated to all the dreamers out there. You are the ones who change the world!

  This book touches on matters of a part of the human body we all take for granted, our brain. If you feel so inclined, please like this Facebook page to find ways you can donate or support to a charity that is close to mine and my family’s heart.

  CLICK HERE

  Uncle Geoff I love you! Remember No One Fights Alone!

  CHAPTER ONE

  “My brother, my best friend, my home.” – Dillon

  Dillon

  My receptionist, a sweet silver-haired lady named Margie, whisper shouts at me from the crack of my ajar office glass doors.

  “Dill!”

  I wrinkle my brow, shaking my head at the odd Déjà vu feeling I’ve been getting for what feels like the hundredth time since I got here. Being stuck in a phone conference for the better part of two hours is not how I wanted to start my day off. No wonder I’m feeling out of sorts.

  “Could you please hold for a moment?” I politely ask my financial advisor. Not that I even bother to hear his long-winded reply.

  “Yes, Marg?” I inquire, opening my office sliding doors.

  “There are two officers here to speak with you. They say it’s urgent,” she replies in her same hushed tone, starting to worry her hands. With that telling gesture, I know it can’t be good news.

  “Send them in, please.” I brush my hair down in awkward jerky movements, feeling aggravated that Deacon has likely got into trouble again and I am about to have to bail him out.

  Two gentlemen step through the doors.

  “Are you Miss Dillon Danvers?” asks a slightly balding older man, carrying a lot of weight around his middle. He stands to the right as his younger partner with a mop of brown, spiked hair, shuts the door with the finality of a click. My hands start to shake; I’m getting a bad vibe.

  “Umm, yes, I am. How may I help you today?” My voice shakes slightly. I smile warily and paste on my polite face, prepared to smooth the way for my twin brother’s latest actions.

  Please let it be him pranking his grouchy old neighbor, Mr. Parson again by putting corn in the exhaust of his car. Please!

  “Ma’am, I’m afraid we have some bad news.” I close my eyes.

  Here we go.

  “Your brother Deacon Danvers, his wife Marissa, and their son Lyon, were in a terrible car accident early this morning. We tried to reach you by your cell number listed as an emergency...”

  I blink, swallowing thickly. Everything fades to the background. All I can hear is this incessant ringing in my ears. I try to focus on the officer’s lips moving, but I can’t make out the words. My body starts to tremble. The Déjà vu feeling is back so strong now it’s overwhelming. I fall to my knees, putting my hands over my ears.

  Please, no!

  But my mind keeps going around and around with what the police officer has told me, as if on a broken record. It won’t stop.

  Why won’t it stop?

  Tears stream down my face. It can’t be true, it just can’t. Deacon, Marissa, Lyon... Wait...

  “Lyon was with them!” I shout, standing up abruptly and nearly falling back down again because my legs feel like Jell-O. My outburst causes the younger officer to take a step back, obviously catching him off guard.

  I take a deep breath to calm myself a little, “Where are they?” I swallow a few times to get past the lump that’s in my throat. “Are they…are they okay?” I stumble and put a hand over my heart, willing my rapid heartbeat to slow down. I turn away from the officers and start looking around my office for my stuff.

  I need to get to the hospital!

  I pat down my black pencil skirt, barely noticing how slick my palms are with sweat.

  Where are my damn keys?

  I turn to walk back to my desk, shoving papers so hard they scatter about the floor. Where are my damn keys? I need to leave. NOW!

  “Ma’am, like I said, they are at Baptist View Hospital. Your brother and sister in law have both suffered internal bleeding and numerous broken bones—”

  “—and Lyon?” I practically shout again at the man while my heart rate notches up even further.

  No. He’s just a child, he has to be okay, he just has to…

  “He’s awake; he has a cut on his head from shattered glass and only minor bruising.” I understand what’s being said, but my mind won’t let me believe. I need to see Lyon with my own eyes. I need to see if he is truly okay. I wipe my tears away from my cheeks.

  I need to see him because I know…because I know…I scrunch up my nose; what do I know?

  I jump as the pudgy officer reaches his arm out, palm up facing me; looking as if he’s trying to calm a feral animal, approaching as if to settle me down.

  “I’ve have to get there, I need to go! Where are MY FUCKING KEYS?!” I turn in another complete circle, still not able to find any of my personal belongings.

  “Ma’am, let us drive you. I don’t think you should be driving at the moment and we can get you there faster.” The officer gestures to the door with his outstretched hand. I catch sight of my purse on my office chair. I dart forward and scoop it up before running out the door in front of him.

  I blink and look around, seeing nothing but white walls, and smelling disinfectant in the air. I’m at the hospital and being escorted to Lyon’s room, there is a doctor standing outside.

  How did I get here?

  Bile rises up and burns the back of my throat as I look at his once white doctor’s coat covered in blood.

  Is that from Deacon or Marissa, maybe it’s both?

  The hallway starts to spin. I try to reach out to the wall to steady myself, but I miss. I start to fall. I close my eyes.

  I may as well hurt physically as the people I love are.

  Strong arms wrap around me, catching me before I hit the cold floor. My eyes fly open.

  “Here we go.” I blink, seeing two of the doctor. It was him who caught me. When my vision clears, I can’t help but stare in horror at his coat. He see
s my expression and quickly let’s go, making sure I can stand on my own.

  Clearing his throat, he asks, “Are you okay? Have you had any breakfast today?” I nod. “Was it the blood?” I nod again, trying hard to not look at it. “Are you Dillon Danvers?”

  I’m really starting to hate my own name and these stupid questions. I clear my throat.

  “Yes. Please tell me what is going on!” I beg. The doctor hangs his head for a moment; my stomach drops and I just know.

  “I am sorry to inform you, but your brother and sister-in-law sustained severe damage when a drunk driver collided with them head on. I’m sorry to say, Marissa passed away at the scene of the accident. The paramedics were unable to resuscitate her. She will need an autopsy to determine her cause of death. With the autopsy, we will find out if what we suspect is true that she had suffered a traumatic aortic disruption; a serious heart injury. We are inclined to think this is the case due to it is being common among car accidents. We will need your consent for a hospital autopsy.”

  I blink, trying to hold in my tears.

  Noo, not sweet lovely Marissa! She doesn’t deserve this!

  The doctor puts his hand on my shoulder squeezing slightly, looking directly at me. He looks to be tired with bags underneath his eyes holding such sorrow and regret. I can’t imagine the things he has seen and how hard it must be to tell the families of their loved one’s passing.

  “Miss Danvers, I’m sorry to tell you that your brother, Deacon has suffered extensive brain damage. He did not make it.” My stomach drops feeling as if I’ve ate lead for breakfast. My legs give out, only for the doctor to catch me again. He says something to a passing nurse but I can’t make out the words. A little while later I blink as I’m being gently pushed into a chair.

  Huh when did that happen?

  I lick my dry lips and try to speak but only a squeak comes out. I swallow and try again.

  “How, I mean, how did he die? What brain damage?” I croak.

  “Miss Danvers, some rest will do you good. You’re exhausted.”

  “Please just tell me, I need to know.” I whisper. He gives me a searching look until finally he nods.

  “The bleeding to the brain has deprived him of oxygen and his brain has been pushed downward toward the brain stem. There’s no easy way to tell you, he is brain dead, dead, dead.” I blink.

  Why would he say it like that?

  I bend over and clutch my stomach, struggling to breathe, feeling as if I’ve been kicked in the gut. My world spins; acidic vomit rises to the forefront of my throat. Tears I held in are now streaming down my face.

  This can’t be happening!

  My whole body starts to shake.

  The doctor places his hand on my lower back. I look up into his soulful, rich-brown eyes and see regret shining through them. “I am so sorry. If this is too much for you, I can stop.” I shake my head and straighten up.

  “No, I need to know the rest.” My voice wobbles. I wipe my tears away, swallowing down the sickness. He stares at me for a little while, probably wondering if he should carry on. “Please,” I whisper.

  “We found his driver’s license; he is an organ donor. The transplant surgery team has kept Deacon hooked up to a ventilator. The ventilator or life support machine is currently providing oxygen that is keeping Deacon’s heart beating. Miss Danvers, Dillon if I may?” I nod. “I can’t stress this enough when you go in there he will look alive but please, don’t get your hopes up you must understand he is not. The machine is breathing for him. We have been waiting for the decision from the family. We can keep him hooked up to the ventilator until everyone gets here to say goodby—”

  “—That isn’t necessary; it’s just the three of us. I know he would want the chance to help save other people, so get me what’s needed. I’ll sign the paperwork.”

  “I am sorry, ma’am.” He pats my shoulder in sympathy, but I don’t want the comfort, not from him. I just want my family, whole and okay. “Would you like to say your goodbyes?” I silently nod my head yes and follow him to a room where Deacon’s hooked up to one of those alien looking machines.

  Tubes come out of his nose and mouth, wires attached to nearly every possible square inch of his skin. He looks unrecognizable.

  Oh my gosh, Deacon!!

  I rush over to him and hold his hand; his skin is paper thin. How can he be so pale, the only color of his bruises and cuts? How can he be so small and fragile looking? He was always so big and strong. I only video called him last night, he was perfect then. He was my brother; not this shell of a man.

  I gently cup his cheek, rubbing slightly. He has a big white bandage wrapped around his whole head to under his chin.

  How can he feel like this when he is meant to be brain dead? He still feels warm, and alive. I know the doctor said the machine is just keeping his heart pumping but maybe he’s got it all wrong? He has to be...

  A hand lands on my shoulder and I jump, turning around. “I’m sorry to have startled you, Miss Danvers, but it’s time.” I turn back around and stare at Deacon. I swallow thickly.

  I’m not ready for this!

  “Maybe he isn’t….” I start. I know he told me not to get my hopes up but I can’t help it.

  “I am sorry; by definition he is already dead. He will never wake up. He has no brain activity. The machine will keep his body alive while his mind and everything that makes him who he is, is gone. It can be very disconcerting seeing a loved one like this. Often we suggest therapy …” I tune out what he’s saying; just staring at Deacon.

  I’m not ready to let go. I blink, but I know it be very selfish of me to keep him like this.

  He would hate it.

  I interrupt the doctor in a small voice, “Okay, do it.”

  “Once I do this, you won’t have long with him as he will need to go straight to the transplant team. I am sorry.” I nod, not taking my eyes of Deacon, my only brother, my home.

  The recognizable sound of a flat line blares out as the monitors are being unplugged. It echoes around the room. The sound rings in my ears long after it has stopped and the doctor has left. The complete silence of the respirator stopping is in high contrast, almost peaceful. The reality of this situation hits me. Deacon’s chest stops moving. He’s still. Too still.

  I break down. My head falls to his chest as I let all my sorrow out, the weight of the situation fully weighing me down. I start to hiccup, unable to catch my breath, my face streaming with tears and snot but I don’t care.

  He’s gone. I’m alone.

  My brother, my best friend, my home. How will I ever go on?

  A cold hand squeezes mine; I look up, blinking away tears. My mouth opens in shock. I’m upside down, a seat belt digging into my chest and blood rushing to my head. I’m in the back seat. I look around the room but it’s changed, we are no longer in the same room but in a car; his car. The accident.

  My nostrils flare as the overwhelming smell of fumes and burning rubber make it to my nose.

  How did I get here?

  I blink, looking to the side; its night time. Deacon’s vacant eyes stare from beside me. I jump and my seatbelt digs in, catching my breath. His lips curve into a sneer. His body sits at an odd angle, blood pouring down from his many lacerations. I can see blood pouring from his head. I gag.

  Is that brain I see?

  My heart starts to ‘thump, thump.’

  “Aww, poor little Dill; all alone, alone.” his voice raspy and mocking. I swallow down my scream.

  ‘Thump, thump.’

  “I’m so sorry, Deacon, they said it was an accident. I can’t, I can’t go on.” Tears flood down my face.

  “Aunt Dill Pickle!” Lyon screeches. I push my hair out of my face, trying to spot him. I see him lying a few feet from the car on the cold unforgiving ground, glass from the windows shattered around him. My pulse pounds in my ears. Amazingly, he is not fatally wounded. Only a deep cut on his head and a few bruises. I look back to his dad in panic.r />
  I can’t let him see this!

  I try to unbuckle and move away but Deacon grips my hand harder, almost to the verge of pain, not letting me move.

  “Let me go, he can’t see this!” I screech at him, trying to yank my hand away, but he won’t let go.

  ‘Thump, thump.’ I’m light headed from being upside down and it’s affecting my ability to break his hold and keep Lyon from seeing his father this way.

  I close my eyes and swallow thickly. “Lyon, sweetheart, are you okay?” I open my eyes and look over to him. He nods. I try to smile, but I’m sure it looks more like a grimace. “Can you do me a super big favor?” He nods again. “Can you get up? If it hurts too much, then that is ok.” He nods once more, and stands up slowly. I let out a relieved breath. “No, don’t come here. Can you go look for some help?” He shakes his head no.

  Cruel, mocking laughter rings out.

  “Please?” I swallow down a sob. But he just stays there, looking at me. He’s frozen, not even moving. It’s as if I hit a pause button. I close my eyes. Clearly, I’m dreaming.

  I want to wake up now, please. I close my eyes, willing myself to pull out of this horrible nightmare.

  ‘Thump, thump.’

  “You’re going to fail him, just like you failed us!” I open my eyes and immediately want to close them again. Marissa suddenly appears into the seat beside me so I am sandwiched between her and Deacon in the back.

  She turns to smirk at me. Blood pouring from her chest as something sticks out from it. I swallow thickly, trying to move away but the firm grip on my hand gets tighter. She grabs my other hand, pulling so hard she dislodges my shoulder. I scream in pain. They laugh and start pulling at my hair, digging their nails deeply in my skin, making me bleed. The more I scream, the more their cruel laughter rings in my ears.

  They surround me.

  “Aunt Dill?” Lyon whispers, suddenly appearing in front of me.

  “Ly, stay back, please?” I try frantically to get them off me.

  “Why are you doing this?” I whimper. But I get no answer.